


Madam

by Diagonas



Category: Agent Carter - Fandom, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Afterlife, Agents of SHIELD, Avengers - Freeform, Black Widow - Freeform, F/M, Multi, Red Room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diagonas/pseuds/Diagonas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's one of his 28 masterpieces and he's not afraid to claim what's his.</p>
<p>She's one of his precious girls and she will do everything to kill both him and protect her real identity.</p>
<p>She's one of his secret projects and he's killing each one off, one by one.</p>
<p>She's one of his greatest disasters and she's not afraid to turn her back on everything she once believed in just to prove him wrong.</p>
<p>She's one of his biggest triumphs and he's saving her 'till last.</p>
<p>She's one of his monsters and she's out for blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You know, when you said, 'let's get lunch,' well- darling, I didn't think it would quite be like this."

That was what tumbled through her lips as she was shoved forwards into a chair, her feet and hands both tied viciously. Her eyes flashed as one of the henchmen ripped the earpiece from her ear and shoved one of his heavy feet on top, a audible crunch as it was reduced to a pile of plastic and wires. She kept her head bowed, the hair already falling down from her ponytail. She felt the other henchmen move the chair to a certain angle before there was a loud slap as he slapped the woman across the face. There was no reaction from her silent figure, even as her cheek pulsed angrily and a pearl of blood ran down her porcelain chin from her cut lip.

"You definitely know how to treat a woman, don't you gentlemen..." She said smoothly, raising her head as she spoke with a raw throat, swallowing down as she paused. A pair of heels were laid in a broken pile, showing the struggling she'd faced while being forced into a pair of ties. She chastely licked her lips, not even fazed by the taste of blood staining her mouth. Eyes focusing slowly, still fuzzy from the blow, She watched as two rather well built men stood in front of her, eyeing the tied woman with a dark, intense gaze. "You really should buy me dinner first before you decide to entertain me-it's basic manners darling." Her dimples flashed as one of the broad-shouldered henchmen growled in irritation. A smirk blossomed on her features, and she almost chuckled until the door beyond them opened, revealing the man of the moment.

"Valentina, what a surprise." He said with slight amusement in his voice as he saw her there. The petite woman that looked so innocent but was so deadly all the same. She was dressed in dark clothing, something he'd expected, so he wasn't surprised to see the black trousers and dark red top, stained with blood from the brawl she was fresh out of. But his eyebrow rose slightly at the array of weapons his men had extracted from her. He knew that she travelled heavy, but not even in his years of service had he ever seen a woman fit so many arms on her person. In reply, the woman lifted a smile onto her features, her eyes assessing his brilliantly neat expensive suit and his scarce mop of thin hair.

"Darling," She spoke to him with a smooth tone that didn't fit the moment. He smirked as she just sat there, looking very cool and collected. "I was under the impression that you were expecting me. Don't tell me that you've developed memory loss in your old age." She was always an odd specimen, that one. His eyebrows drew downwards slightly as he came forwards and reached out a hand, taking her face roughly and her chin. Her eyelashes fluttered as he stood within close proximity to her, the rings on his fingers glinting in the weak lighting of the warehouse she was held captive in. She found herself looking at his weathered and aged hands, avoiding his gaze as he stared at the red chapped look to her cheeks, where one of his henchmen had raised his hand on her. A soft tut fell through his lips.

"Pascal, didn't you're mother ever teach you not to hit a woman?" He said, turning to face one of his goons, he was still holding her face like a rare specimen, and she barely reacted to his sudden change of pace. But there was a slight strain in her neck that signified how restrained she was and how much potential she had within her. It was clear from the way she sat that if she had her way, the whole building would be up in flames. Pascal, the man who had backhanded her, shuffled uncomfortably, his colleague sniggering like a kid who'd had his brother told off for his crime. Pascal turned back to face the woman his employer, his mouth upturning into a smirk as he watched the expression contort on his bosses face. She took a short breath as she knew exactly what was coming next. "And Gentlemen, your technique is failing. There is more of a wrist motion like-"

The sound of his hand hitting her skin made the henchmen's skin crawl; it was like a swimmer hitting the water on his stomach or a child falling over in the bath, a sickening sound that made their mouths run dry at the sound of the power in his hit. Her head had been thrown to the side, her eyes caught on her heels, feeling a slight disgust rise in her. The rings on his fingers cracked skin on her pale cheeks, making them run red as she stared at the floor, composing herself. She swallowed her retorts and took a deep breath through her nose, before spitting a mouthful of blood onto the gritty, concrete floor.

"You know- Valentina dear.." The man began, twirling the rings on his finger like a vicious king with an empire at his feet. Her eyes rose to meet his, two orbs of brilliant blue that were like two gunshots to his soul as she looked at him. Her gaze was neither a glare nor a certain sneer, just a look, a look of ice and strength, making a smirk rise to his lips as he mused over his next words. "I was expecting you to arrive sooner than this- I have waited a long time for you."

"I apologise," She replied, raising her head so the light hit her injuries. Split cheekbones, a bust lip and a bruised forehead compiled the majority of her features. But still, her lips managed to pull into a charming smile as she spoke with a well-rehearsed smooth tone that never failed to ease the tension. "But there was some inconvenience on the timing-  you see, just after I received your note, someone happened to destroy a top-secret government organisation." Trailing off, her eyes flashed slightly as she surveyed him. The man didn't comment just grinned widely.

The woman continued with a slight boredom to her words. "So, if you could understand- I had my hands quite full. I'm not sure if you heard about the desolation of one of the main top secret organisations; did you Ian, darling?"

Ian Quinn watched her for a moment, taking in every feature of her. The woman in the chair, the beautiful disaster he'd requested to have at his command. She, of course, was the one who kept impassive and cool, yet he liked to think that even a fallen angel like her had its cracks in its flawless glazed mask. She returned his gaze boldly, ignoring the presence of his two employees and just staring at him, blue eyes blazing. He finally broke the silence by chuckling.

"You have Pierce to blame for that, naturally. The old boy was a sucker when it came to cracking open the arms." The Industrialist replied, his toad-like face splitting as he rubbed his hands together like a child in a sweetshop. "But, it is a glorious time for us, we must rejoice as the great Nick Fury has been knocked from the castle leaving the gates wide open." She pursed her lips as Quinn grinned and exchanged a quick couple of words with his companions. She found her gaze rising to narrow and stare at each man in turn, sizing each one up.

They weren't a challenge at all.

"But you see- darling Valentina," Her shoulders tensed as she watched one of the men, the one who was yet to be named, unsheathed a sharp dagger from his belt. She managed to stay emotionless, even as the man sauntered forwards and grinned at her maliciously. As he loomed in front of her face, she wrinkled her nose, the stench of his breathe making her stomach turn. The man, who was heavily-tattooed and looked like something out of a cliché drug based action thriller, loomed in and out of her personal space, oblivious to her act of barely being affected by it.

It felt like a lifetime before Ian actually continued. "... There's been a rumour around Washington that you have been a very naughty girl." Again, she was impassive, just staring at the man with the knife blankly and boredly. His words didn't surprise her in the slightest. There was a lot of things that she'd been up to that he had no idea about. It didn't exactly scare her either. As Quinn dangled the security of her life in front of her face, all she condemned herself to do was sit and stare. "I presume you heard about Whitehall..."

"Yes." She responded, not raising her gaze from the knife clutched in her assaulter's hand. "I was upset when I heard; Daniel Whitehall was a brilliant man with a brilliant perspective on the world." It was old news, the demise of the scientist had happened nearly a year ago and it all had fallen to a small island and a handful of people with alien technology that was frankly as understandable as ancient texts. The lie that fell through her lips was just as fluid as the movements the man made gently caressing her chin with his blade. Eyes flickering downwards, she could see her icy blue eyes in the reflection of the well-kept weapon, seeing the slight malevolence hidden behind the colour.

"I assume that you are aware of his code of conduct." Quinn continued, a large toothed smile stretching across his face as she met his gaze. A muscle in her jaw jumped as she assessed the man, eyes drinking in his slender build, his thick dark hair and his scheming eyes that met hers with such glee that she was tempted to snatch the knife from that man's hand and turn it on them all instead. The Ian was a wealthy man and flaunted it broadly, dressing in expensive and lavish suits as if he was the man in the New York tower. He rubbed his hands together and stared at the woman shackled to the chair, watching with amusement as his right hand man trailed his knife over her cheek bones, the ghosting touch causing hairs to rise across her body in anguish.

She gave the dagger not a glance, "Of course." Whitehall had his whole life driven by a simple phrase, beginning projects and slaying beings by just one belief. Her tone was cool as she recited it easily. "Discovery requires experimentation, words of a poetic, sadistic and dedicated mastermind." Quinn nodded his head slowly, agreeing with her words, but he didn't make a move to stop his staff's movements as the knife continued its journey, caressing her brow delicately. She met the man's gaze head on and for a moment, his grip on the knife faltered, seeing the strength that seethed from every sparkle in her eye.

"Recited perfectly, naturally."  Quinn commented, commending her. She managed a smile and flashed her startlingly white teeth, moving slightly so she could look at the Ian and flutter her eyelashes. The Scientist chuckled. "But you take Daniel's words to heart- don't you sweetheart?" She made no movement, instead just watching as the knife continued its circuit around her features. That was until Quinn spoke again. "After all, you yourself are a product of experimentation."

Ian Quinn watched with a smirk as his ex-colleague seemed to unravel. She found her heart-rate picking up and her eyes narrowing as he hinted ever so slightly about her tightly kept secrets. Her expression turned very slightly sour as the Scientist holding her captive raised his hand and waved the knife-wielding maniac backwards, instead coming to stand in front of her with a smug look glistening in his eye. She leaned backwards slightly, taking a deep breath as Ian loomed in front of her face, grinning charismatically as a muscle ticked in her sharp jaw. "But, apparently, experiments can go wrong..." His tone sent chills across her skin and she glared up at him. "Tell me, how is Phil Coulson?" She barely hesitated in a reply.

"Why darling," Her mouth opened and she smiled innocently, her nose centimetres from his. "He's doing just fine."

  Before she could register anything, Quinn raised his foot, jabbing it into her stomach with such force that her chair skittered backwards against the concrete, producing a long and shattering screech as her body was thrown backwards. A look of disgust fell across his features as she hunched forwards slowly, winded and aching from the sudden blow. Her injuries left her in an uncomfortable position, shoulders in an awkward position and feet half stuck in between the legs of the wooden chair. When she looked upwards, Quinn had been replaced with the man she identified as his other goon, the one Quinn had named as Pascal, eyes glittering in the light from the flickering industrial lamp overhead.

"You dirty, lying cheat." Quinn spat as he paced around her, passing her occasionally and shooting her dirty looks. It was her turn to smirk as she attempted to play a cool and nice game, her shoulders somehow working into a comfy position and her back leaning against the boarding of the small wooden chair. Her eyes danced with a beauty that was stolen by the secrets and fire that thrived inside of her.

"Oh come on, Ian, darling." She simpered, causing his expression to contort further. He didn't like her tone- it was too smug, too chastising and the sneer on his lips only seemed to broaden as the woman continued to speak in that rich, accented voice of hers. "Don't tell me that you're surprised."

Quinn didn't say anything, but just gave a jagged nod towards his employees, making her hands tighten around the bottom of the chair. Pascal moved forwards in a shuffling movement, coming to stand behind her. She refused to turn her head, blind to the sight of Pascal as he held the back of the chair, pulling her backwards very slowly. She just continued to stare at Quinn with that same grin, watching as he gave her a glance over his shoulder before addressing his second employee. Pascal's colleague, the knife-maniac was of thicker built, his dark, hooded eyes glowering at her as he stalked forwards, she didn't even flinch as he grabbed her chin, forcing her head backwards until it hit the back of the chair. Her face was blank as he edged the blade in his hands, pressing it into the inside curve of her neck, his hold ominous. Quinn sighed loudly and tiredly, looking very distraught and disappointed.

"Valentina, you were a great asset you know." He began, but he was cut off by her clearing her throat. Eyebrows rising, he looked towards her, seeing her clear, pale skin in the clutches of his henchman and her lips shaking as she opened them to speak.

"Val," She corrected him. Quinn's eyes narrowed.

"Val." He repeated. Quinn rolled his eyes before turning around and continuing his soft pacing. "Like I said- you're an asset. But you're dangerous." She smiled despite the knife leaning towards her neck, her eyes dancing as she took his words deeply as a compliment. Val, as she chasisted her name to be on a daily basis, was completely comfortable in this scenario. It was nothing she hadn't faced before. "You're talented sure- but you're reckless."

"Oh keep flattering me, Ian." She quipped, "I might just have to kiss you." Quinn just ignored her.

"You're a backstabbing bitch." He suddenly said, making her eyebrows rise elegantly, cocking one as he seemed to seethe internally.  Ian Quinn was furious with the woman in the chair, and although he always seemed to have the right quip or the right attitude, he was completely hopeless when it came to Val. And she knew that. They were good friends, or had been seeing that he had her tied to a chair. He felt betrayed, and Val loved seeing the broken look of anger in his eyes. He'd been played, and he hated it. "And you knew all along..."

"Darling, you sure know how to insult a girl, I'll give you that." The man holding the knife to her throat jolted it forwards, the knife just gilding her skin. Val shot him a long look, a challenging stare that made his jaw clench. As she watched the man's resolve crumble, she couldn't help but continue to smile. That was the way she got through things, smiling. "But really- you're terrible at chatting up girls."

Quinn scowled at her. "You didn't have a problem with that when your hand was in my pants." Val rolled her eyes, tossing her hair backwards as the man retracted his arm slightly from her neck. Quinn watched as Val seemed to brush him off and his temper heightened. "I'm not a part of that little band of Nazi-lovers," He spat stalking forwards and knocking his henchman aside, causing Val to let out a light breath. "But I will dispose you so you can't destroy the foundations of the new world they have made for us." His face was right next to hers and she found herself wondering what was going on behind his striking eyes. Whether he meant what he said. Whether he would strike her dead.

It took her one look to know that he meant every word. Val never doubted the Scientist's short-fuse.

"So Trevor here... he's going to... let you go on a little vacation." Quinn grinned at his ex-lover, before walking backwards. He clapped 'Trevor' on the back, ushering the man with the knife forwards. Val didn't react, just kept smiling at Quinn as he seemed to try and push his anger aside and be careless. But Val knew exactly how long it took to master the guise of impassiveness and her favourite contact was far from it. Trevor looked and seemed like the average 'back-up plan', but as Val discreetly sized him up again, she saw nothing that surprised her. He was tall, square-shouldered and grizzly, his eyes dark, yet she could just about make out the small charms of amusement in his eyes as he held the shard to her jugular. As Trevor held the weapon to her neck, she felt the chair wobble as it was tilted backwards, revealing a rather amused looking Pascal. Val just laughed.

"You're just going to kill me?" She sounded unimpressed, amused. Val wanted the Quinn fire, the thing that had attracted her to him, made her pick him up as a contact and play him like a chessboard in the first place. He had a nice temper, an attractive temper, and this wasn't doing it justice. "No offence boys, but you two don't seem like Ian's usual call girls."

Val watched as Quinn circled her for one last time, giving her flashbacks of a time she had buried in her memory long ago. She felt as though she was stuck on a table in an operating theatre, with Quinn calling the shots for her life and death. But Ian Quinn just grinned at her, an expression which showed her that he, a man who she had been able to control like a puppet on strings, was done. Done with her. Done with her games.

"Oh darling," He said, mocking her whole being. "Didn't you know- Discovery requires Experimentation."

And with that her death sentence was signed.

Yet Val just rolled her eyes.

Pascal shoved her chair forwards just as Quinn passed, Trevor coming forward to kick her hostilely in the stomach, retracting the knife so he could batter her down. Val was silent as she grappled against her ties, finding herself face down on the cold floor, listening to Trevor's deep breaths as he prepared to bludgeon her to death on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. She managed to break her legs free, just as Pascal went to hoist her up, smirking as she rocketed upwards, hands behind her back.

Val kicked backwards, the leg falling onto Pascal's foot, making him cry out. She instantly leaned forwards, landing on her feet, with the chair still attached to her lower back, with an air of grace and precision, as if she was a gymnast with a deadly motive. Inhaling sharply, she threw her head backwards, hearing a muffled curse as she hit Pascal in the chin with the back of her head, rocking backwards and landing easily on the back legs of the chair. Head bowed, her eyes gazed through the thick waves of her blonde hair to see Trevor stalk towards her.

Val clicked her neck from side to side and narrowed her eyes. She had a feeling these men did not know who she was. Know what profession she was in. Know the name they gave her. Therefore, Val easily lifted a leg as he came ambling and blindly made a grab for her, hitting him straight in the chest, the force making her slide back on the chair slightly. She scowled at the ties attatching her to the chair and leant forwards, in an awkward squat as she watched Trevor stall by her slightly weak kick. It wasn't until he went to slash her throat open with the knife that Val made a move, jumping forwards and smashing the chair against his midriff, easily reducing the furniture to a pile of wood.

Trevor growled, falling backwards as Pascal rushed forwards, picking up Trevor's discarded blade. Val frowned as she messed with the hand ties, trying to get them undone, muttering darkly under her breath. "c'mon.. c'mon..." Her eyes widened slightly as she abruptly ran out of time and Pascal came running at her; She only just about had enough time to duck, Pascal tripping over her crouched body and flipping over. A faint smile lit her face as she glanced backwards, hearing a satisfying crunch as he landed face first on the concrete. He dropped the knife, the metal clattering to the floor and spinning across the concrete. Her ears perked and Val instantly made a beeline for it, rolling over and fiddling with the sharp object as she struggled to cut the plastic. As Val sat, unguarded on the floor, Trevor got to his feet, walking slowly forwards.

Her body leapt forwards like a graceful animal, rolling forwards. Trevor dived to the side, trying to kick her in the leg but Val manoeuvred quickly and silently, slicing across the thin layer of dust encasing the floor. As she got a moment of gussying up, Trevor regaining his bearings, she looked around quickly, checking whether Quinn or Pascal was secretly sneaking up on her; Pascal was lying on the floor, blood pooling from his broken nose and Quinn was just stood in the corner, watching her carefully as Val swung out a leg, hooking her foot around Trevor 's leg making him stumble. Trevor tried to throw a punch blindly, but she just curved to the left, her elbow coming in contact with his stomach. Val twisted around as Trevor grabbed her other arm, gripping it tightly, making a subconscious wince slip through her lips. Val managed to let her other hand fumbled with the blade, but finally she heard the snap of plastic as the ties split, her arms coming out instantly. Without any hesitation, she turned around, kicking Trevor in the groin before throwing a punch at his face.

He groaned painfully and dropped to the floor. Val went back by a few steps before she heard the click of a gun loading, making her freeze.

"Step down, pretty lady," Pascal said in a heavy voice, his English mottled by a thick Italian accent and stream of blood coming through his noose and over his chin. She turned slowly, dropping the blade, Val held her hands up as a sign of surrender. She seemed cool and easy in the situation, watching him intently and her expression contradicting the hopelessness her actions suggested. Pascal smirked, seeming victorious, his bright green eyes glittering in the industrial light. With his free hand he lifted her chin upwards, her bright, vivid blue eyes watched him carefully, reading him as he sneered. "I wonder if you can live through this, It'd be a shame to lose such a beautiful woman-" His finger toyed with the trigger and Val closed her eyes.

She counted to four slowly. One. Two. Three.

The silence in between the numbers seemed to stretch on forever.

Four.

Her eyes flew open; Val's hand came up quickly, knocking the gun out of the way as Pascal pulled the trigger. She could easily hear the bullet whizz past her ear, the closeness of it making uncomfortable goose bumps erupt down her back. Ignoring this sensation, she began to work against Pascal's strikes. He, like Trevor, was a careless fighter, throwing punches blindly and ducking every few strikes. She bit her lip down in concentration, managing to kick his feet out from underneath him. Pascal threw his hands out for something to catch onto, his hands gripping onto her body as he fell with a anguished cry. His weight sent her crashing to the floor, curses spilling out of her mouth in a rush of Italian as she came in contact with the hard concrete. Her head smashed against the floor roughly, making a moan of pain escape her lips.

When Val opened her eyes, her eyesight was blurred. She could just make out Quinn's figure as he slowly walked up towards them and bent down to pick up Pascal's gun. All she could hear was the click as he got it ready once again and Pascal's heavy breathing. The fall had knocked him unconscious, which made some sort of accomplishment in her case. But Quinn was standing there, preparing to shoot her so her blood stained the floor. He was just there, a few steps in front of her, and as she blinked furiously, she could see his demonic smile.

"Like I said earlier, Valentina. You were a great asset to Cybertek when you passed through." The gun was cocked in front of her face, and still she was impassive. Just staring at Quinn as bruises shone across her face. Quinn had a look of victory on his features, but he missed her small movements as she reached outwards, securing her hand around the dagger that had passed from man to man. She held it roughly in her grip, eyes narrowing as Quinn reached out a hand, caressing her check softly, as if they were actual lovers. "It's a shame that you have to work for them," He whispered, leaning forwards and looking into her eyes. But Val wouldn't give him a minute of her emotions. "But still, you're a cold-hearted bitch. You think that you played me- but I knew- I always knew what you were-"

"And what exactly was that?" Her voice was hoarse from the blows to her throat, her eyebrow twitching as she raised it delicately. "Darling, I played you like a symphony and now, look at you. You're hurt," His jaw clenched. "You want revenge for your little broken heart- how cute. I seduced you, I made you think that I was the innocent agent that worked under John Garret's hand, didn't I?" His silence made Val chuckle and she couldn't help but mock him, even if he held a gun to her face. Her eyes flashed as he played with the trigger on the gun, eyes reduced to slits.

"I made you feel special, I made you feel appreciated. Even if it was just a few spontaneous nights." Val was far from finished, throat raw but eyes fiery. "While you were taking showers, I was searching through your files and extracting them, sending them on a one way route to Whitehall himself. I was destroying you piece by piece, and darling, you never noticed. But now, someone's given you a wake up call..." She trailed off, musing over the throbbing vein in his temple. "So, pray tell Ian, who told you that I was a double agent?"

"You would love to know that, wouldn't you?" Quinn spat, finding solitude as he dragged her off of the ground, drawing Val upwards. Her smile flickered as he shook her roughly and pressed the barrel of his gun to the side of her temple. "You work for so many people that you're going to get in a situation where each one is holding a gun to your head- just like this. So be grateful that I'm the one doing this, not your darling Strucker or your darling Nick."

"Jealousy looks a great colour on you darling," Val said. "You're just wounded aren't you. But who inflicted that wound- who told you who I'm working for?" Her words seemed to bounce off of Quinn as he continued to talk darkly, insanely even.

"- I will tell everyone about who you are. About what you do and the true colours you have, the true monster you are, Madam Valentina." Val grimaced as he seemed to seriously pull on the trigger, but Quinn didn't seem quite done yet. The impulsive nature of the man was enough to keep his words quick and fast crumbling through his lips. "I will tell Von Strucker about the HYDRA agents you've killed, I will tell List about the experiments you've tainted. I will tell them about the betrayal you cost the community." He was talking too much for Val's liking. So she did the most darling of things.

She kissed him. Val leant forwards and cut him off, her lips smashing against his and a smirk making its way onto her lips as he fumbled with the gun, the weapon skittering to the floor. He seemed to be caught off guard by her sudden movement, his hands dropping off her and placing her sensually on the floor, arms around her waist. Val couldn't help but smile as the dagger in her hand brushed against his chest, jerking Quinn backwards.

Val wiped the lipstick off of her chin delicately, holding the dagger to his neck as he stared at it, wide eyed, not expecting the sudden turn of events. He watched as she kicked the only chance of his survival to the other side of the warehouse, the gun zooming off into the darkness. When she turned back to him, her face was made up into the most innocent of smiles, red lipstick like blood against her bruised skin.

"Now- let's try this again." She spoke in an acidic tone. "Who the hell told you about my secret identity?"


	2. (1)

 She realised at a young age how the world works.

 The world was a bloodbath, a fight that just kept fighting. It was a deep bottomless pit of dragged out chaos and backhanded smirks, a kitchen where the devil played amongst the smoke and heat. It was an eternal gladiator’s battle and to survive she had to do whatever necessary to keep her heart beating- that’s what they taught her. They, who she was happy enough to never give a second thought since she’d left them behind, educated her in the ways of the world, showed her how to live, showed her how to survive.

 Survival was important in the world, it entailed a whole number of things. For example, you had to learn the hierarchies, where the power lay and who had it over you. Then, once you knew who called the shots, you had to get on top of them and put a bullet in their brain. It was simple, but somewhat tricky. A second of hesitation and the whole world would be turned upside and you would be pushed to the floor instead, and then you’d be the one dead. It was a game deadlier than the roll of dice and the flick of a wrist as you gamble your wares- because this resulted in destruction, pain and even more chaos if you gambled wrong. Powerplay was the “devils game” and in her profession, you had to be a step ahead of everyone, you had to be ready for everything to come tumbling down and for your cover to be threatened. You had to survive, you didn’t have a choice not to.

 That meant killing, backstabbing, lying and cheating, all parts of her profession.

 All skills they’d taught her at an early age. It wasn’t as if she didn’t mind it, on the contrary, it made her life somewhat thrilling. There was an undeniable rush of adrenalin when someone was scared of you, something that she’d always found funny. Growing up, she’d been weak against the inferiority of women in society. She’d been forced to watch men fight wars and women be kept in the ruins of broken economies, told to look after their kids and do jobs designed for weaker people- and that had infuriated her. Women had never been weak. Men had only been afraid of things they couldn’t quite understand, Women- still in the new century- was one of them.

 And yet last night, she had watched him as he shuddered, the knife in her hand glinting mischievously. She had watched the fear in his eyes as she leant over slowly, pressing her hand against his shoulder, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. It was exhilarating; the feeling of power was exhilarating, the feeling of successful survival was all she’d ever dreamt of and this man who’d been rather inappropriate to her in the times they’d gotten together, was about to be put in his place.

Because the most important lesson she’d ever been taught was the one taught by nature. It was the law written millions of years before the evolution of man, the theory that has only come too real in modern society. Yes, you had to be killed or be killed, but that had a name. The weak ones died and the strong ones, the ones who did the killing, survived.

 “Immortality my darlings,” Val breathed as Quinn flinched away from her hold. She could practically see the veins in his eyes as she loomed in his face, a slightly unhinged glimmer in her eye as she was swamped my incoming memories and emotions from her past. Quinn could see it, he could see it all as she held the shard of metal dangerously close to his skin, a slight whimper falling through his throat. The pathetic sound brought her senses to the surface and, like a slate, her emotions were wiped clean off of her face, her mouth curling in a smirk as the man grovelled.

 “Oh Ian, love, don’t make me hurt this pretty face of yours.” Her tone was spiteful, sharpened by her quick tongue as she ran it over her brilliant teeth amongst her stellar smile. The luxurious accent curled around her words making her almost seem genuine, not a woman crafted by the darkest shadows of society. Yet Quinn couldn’t see past the knife in her hand and instead glared up at her, seeming to lose his voice alongside his dignity. His silence spoke a million words, his jaw slack but eyes serrated, daring to flit between her, her looming hand and the locked door just over her shoulder. Then, he looked straight at his wrists, apparently his men had a stash of plastic ties and that in itself – alongside an old broken pipe that stuck out of the wall at a convenient height – had signed his death warrant.

 He watched unsteadily as she crouched down, slinging her blonde hair over one shoulder. Val had a look of concentration on her features as she watched Quinn, watching as he sat silently, judging her in his arrogant way. He’d had a lot to say just under ten minutes ago and now, it seemed as though the scientist had nothing to comment at all. It amused her, how quickly she could shut him up. Ian Quinn was an incredibly short-fused man and yet his spark had been extinguished. Luckily for her, Quinn wasn’t the only person who happened to have a slim anger.

 Val, although she seldom showed it, happened to get livid as easily as she had slammed Quinn into the wall and tied him to the wall. Yet she had learnt to conceal her anger, to conceal her emotions and use them like weapons against people when needed. It was like hiding a grenade in a bag of Easter eggs. Amongst the innocence and the smiles, she was a bomb ticking down to the moment she drew blood.

  “C’mon, talk baby.” She purred, still looking at him serenely, her body looming in front of his. He just looked at her, jaw locked and a vein pulsating in his forehead. Val could see the whole ordeal in his eyes; she could see his hatred, the words that he couldn’t quite speak and the words he couldn’t quite string together. These emotions swum in his irises, despite how hard he seemed to try to be impassive. Val chuckled, tilting her head to the side and gazed at him curiously, tapping the knife against his cheek. “If you don’t talk for me, I have a feeling you’ll scream.”

 “Bite me.” He ground out, his tone edgy and sharp as Val drew back. She shook her head lightly, tutting the man as he glowered at her. Turning around, she ditched the knife, the weapon tumbling ungracefully out of her hands and hitting the floor with a dullened thud. Instead, she swung her hips lightly as she found the abandoned gun, sitting silently just out of the limelight. A smile drew across her face.

 “Oh, darling, I don’t bite, I’m not that much of an animal.” Quinn seemed unfazed by her reply, but his breathing hitched as she turned around, gun in hand and a sparkle in her eye. “But I shoot.” He swallowed thickly as he watched her, his jaw clenching as she opened the rounds, taking out every bullet but one and tossing it in the palm of her hand. Running her fingers over the metal weapon, she looked up to chuckle at Quinn’s horrified expression. For a cut-throat businessman and scientist, he was one hell of a coward. “And let me tell you...” She prepared the gun, pulling back the safety with a smirk on her lips. “I have one hell of a beautiful shot.”

 “You wouldn’t.” Quinn hissed, his expression hardening. Yet there was a ring of uncertainty in his voice, and rightly so. Val just pressed her lips together flippantly and stalked towards him, leaving the discarded bullets like tears on the solid concrete behind her. Gently lowering herself in front of Quinn’s face, she pressed a hand across his cheek, caressing it softly, making him flinch.

 “Oh I would,” She breathed against his ear, her accent scolding against his skin. Hairs rose at the back of his neck and he fought to keep an emotionless expression. This woman was wicked, neither John Garrett nor the man he was employed by now, had warned him of this. Of course, he’d heard tales of her, heard stories and whispers, but he’d never dreamed that she would be this cruel. “Darling, don’t ever doubt me. You have no idea what I’m capable of. But you do know that I don’t favour guns—“ her facial expression contorted slightly, but then slipped back into a clean simper.

 “Still, you like it rough so fists wouldn’t even make a mark.”

 “What do you want?” Quinn spat, ignoring her last remark heavily. This was not the reminder he needed, not in a life or death scenario. Here he was in some warehouse in the darkest boroughs of the United States, sworn to secrecy and hanging off a broken pipe, staring down the barrel of a gun held by a woman he’d been manipulated by. It was quite a wake up call to turn his life around.

 “Answers, Ian.” Val said simply, smiling at him. Her gaze was amorous, but in a deeply deadly manner. She was playing, prying and baiting, just like she’d always had been with the businessman. “Surely you, the owner of a multi-billion dollar company and a world-renowned scientist, aren’t that dim to realise this. I just need a name, Mr. Quinn. Two words, maybe a location if I’m lucky.” Running a tongue over her teeth, Val dropped her gaze to her gun once again, her slightly chipped manicure tapping against it shortly.

 Quinn was silent. He just inhaled sharply as he watched her bring the gun slowly out in front of her. “Now- darling, this is how it’s going to work. We’re going to play a game.” Val spoke in a vindictive voice, soft, slow and full of malice. The weapon was focused in between his legs and Quinn couldn’t help but wince as she grinned maliciously. The red lipstick coating her lips had smudged slightly from the impromptu kiss earlier, making her look slightly unhinged as she kept his gaze vividly, eyeing him with a cruel shine in her eyes. “One bullet, a few chances, Russian Roulette.” She rolled her eyes at the name. “If I remember rightly- you love to play dirty, don’t you, darling?”

 “I’m not talking.” He growled, but there was a certain glimmer of horror in his facial expression that revealed that he knew all too well that Val would do everything to make him talk. After all, he had information that she needed and if she didn’t get it, well, then there’d be a very messy clean up indeed. Val could only give him a very flat look before she cleared her throat, leaning over him.

 “Then someone’s not going to be having children anytime soon, are they?” Was what she said before pulling the trigger.

 Quinn jolted in surprise and utmost horror before glaring at her, his eyes wide. Val chuckled as the gun only let out a blunt ‘click’ signifying that the bullet was still lurking in the barrel. He was breathing heavily, erratically, looking at Val as if she’d just grown a pair of devil horns and impaled him on the heels of her broken shoes. Her lip curled venomously as she narrowed her eyes.

 “So tell me, darling, who are you working for—who sent you here?” Her question was just answered by silence, making her growl under her breath. Wordlessly, the woman pulled the trigger once again, provoking a yelp to fall through Quinn’s lips. He jumped once again, his face contorting with fear and angst as his eyes squeezed closed, just to miss the look of irritation that cast across Val’s face.

“Bitch.” He hissed, feeling the plastic ties burn into his wrists as he attempted to move about. He found himself clawing against the ties, trying to break himself free.  A certain desperation made his movements choppy. No, he couldn’t die like this. He’d cheated HYDRA for gods sakes, he’d stolen a rich substance right out from underneath the Clairvoyant’s nose. He couldn’t just die in some crappy abandoned warehouse.

 He was Ian Quinn, the famous scientist. He’d trodden on all of those whiny little S.H.I.E.L.D agents and manipulated John Garret himself. He was a survivor, but so was she. Now it was just a toss up between two survivors; she had the gun, but he had the name. Quinn had he name that Val needed so badly, the one person who was so desperate to capture her and the one person she was so desperate to kill. It was all a game, not just Russian Roulette, but his game, his sort of game. He was a gambling man and now he was going to kick up the stakes.

 “You wouldn’t kill me, Valentina.” Quinn found a certain amount of courage inside of him that made his arms go limp, causing Val to withdraw her gun. His eyes opened to look at her mischievously; it was his turn to smirk now. He had a plan and it was based on making him survive. “I was employed by someone, yes, but if you kill me you’ll never find out who it is that wants to find you. This Valerie Fox person you pretend to be- they know about it. They’ve been watching you, monitoring you for years. They told me all about you, you know. I know about everything. Finow, New York, the Hospital Fire and even the Belova girl. They told me everything.”

 Val barely batted an eyelash, but you could see a twitch in her jaw. A small, agitated nick in her muscles.

 “They want you, _Miss Fox_.” He continued, mocking her with a long almost feline smile. “They’ve already found some of the others. Now they’re down to the last three and they’re not going to stop. They sent me after you, but it’s not going to stop there; they really want you back and you will come back in due time, won’t you _darling_? So go ahead, shoot me. Then see how long you’ll live.”

 Val was impassive, delicately impassive as she stared at him. Her eyes were like concrete blocks, her limbs like porcelain. She was small but slightly, well built like a porcelain doll. She looked so fragile, so easy to break that it was almost imaginary. She looked like porcelain but unlike what Quinn thought, she wasn’t fragile. She was a marble statue in a room of porcelain toys.

 She wasn’t going to break that easily.

 “Oh Ian, such a beautiful speech.” Val’s tone was cold, fluid. The mere sound of almost drowned him in his own confusion. Quinn had always been a man of words, spitting out phrases instead of bullets, trying to fire people down by their insecurities- of course, he was a man of business. The first time he’d properly shot someone had only been under the Clairvoyant’s orders and even then the girl hadn’t died. Unlike Val, he was new to being a crook; sure he’d done some petty crimes in his life, but going against Val was like a sheep to a lion. It was inevitable that his way with words wouldn’t quite break him out of this jail cell. “It’s a shame that you talk too much.

 “You see, I don’t quite care whether you think you know everything, because you don’t. If you did know everything then you would not be here. Darling, you’d be running to the hills and throwing away your phone at the thought of even confronting me again.” She chose her words freely and wisely, lips drawn in a tight line as she took easy breaths, seemingly perfectly comfortable in the situation. Quinn looked lost for words with a very lost expression on his face. He clearly wasn’t used to not winning at things. “But your here and had the audacity to try and intimidate me. Listen here, Mr. Quinn- you have no idea what you’re dealing with because if I don’t kill you, your new best friends will. I have an idea who you’re employed and if I’m right, your empty-handed return will result in much more than one bullet to the crotch. I know the torture methods the people I’ve left behind use- I’ve lived through them and believe me, they hurt more like a bitch than I do.”

 Quinn couldn’t quite find a retort for that one, so Val continued.

 “The people I have associated myself with in the past aren’t the most forgiving people on the planet. I have a list of criminals and organisations big enough to fill ten times the resume I have. I just need to know which one was foolish enough to try and track me down. I just need to know the one that was stupid enough to choose a whiny little boy like you to do their dirty-work.”

 She shot the last empty chamber at the floor, before stuffing the gun straight at his temple and glaring at her ex-lover straight in the eyes.

 “So try me, darling.” Her British accent fell away like dust to reveal the rough-cut Italian drawl, making her words seem even more malevolent. “Because I have a thing for bloodied up bastards and I’m sure you’d appreciate the company.”

[ x ]

 “You always travel with whisky and shot glasses?”

 He raised an eyebrow as he walked around the secret cabin, nursing a glass of strong alcohol. The cabin was dressed in casual taste, but he knew all too well that it wasn’t your average cabin in the woods. Just walking around it and looking at the decor he felt memories stir within him, escorting people to and from this secret location, handling highly-tedious people and working on repairing the cabin after one of the people happened to be tedious. Yet now he wasn’t exactly doing his job, frankly he didn’t know what he was doing. He was hiding away, plotting precariously and drinking whisky.

 Not exactly directing a top-secret agency like he was supposed to be.

 His companion just chuckled and spoke in a light-humoured accented tone. “Never know when you’re gonna need something to keep you warm on a cold night.” Unlike the Director, his companion was lean and visibly younger, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans. The night filtered through the far windows lining the cabin walls, along with the fire crackling to his left, casting a light over his sharp cheekbones and glittering eyes, as well as a few bumps and bruises from their already hectic week. He ran a hand along his stubbled chin and brought the glass back up to his lips, keeping an eye on his friend as he paced back and fourth.

 “Two glasses?” The pacing figure enquired, pinching the sleeves of his jacket irritably. He was somewhat well-worn, his eyes tired and hair thinning on the top of his head. He walked with a certain droop to his step, the liquid sloshing slightly in his glass as he moved restlessly. The other man just shrugged.

 “The other one’s for the person keeping me warm.” He said indifferently, making the man pause to look over at him with a raised eyebrow. The man sighed and said, “ _Hunter_ ,” rather pointedly, but the British male just chuckled. “But in your case I’ll make an exception.”

 The man nodded as his mind travelled into the furthest problems they were facing, his brain beginning to kick into the familiar notions. He’d had a long day, from fleeing from his own office into the middle of nowhere, to stealing a SUV under the insistence of Hunter. Running a hand tiredly over his face and gulping down the rest of his drink, he found himself collapsing into an armchair, breathing heavy. It was safe to say that he was exhausted, yet stopping wasn’t an option. Back at the base, there was a man who was searching for them, a man who’d forced the two of them out of their office and off the grid. Now they had to get the upper hand and overpower him.

 He had no idea what he was going to do and he had a feeling Hunter was thinking the same. He could almost imagine Lance Hunter saying shortly, “How the bloody hell are we going to do that then?”

 But Lance was silently looking down at his glass, the quiet settling around them in almost uncomfortable fashion. The British Mercenary had an absent expression plastered across his features, dipping in and out of his thoughts as he let out a tired sigh. The left side of his face was heavily bruised, his eyes slightly bloodshot and unfocused. A long journey had left them both tired and groggy, making the need for conversation very low and tiring. Lance even felt his eyelids droop slightly as he leant back into the sofa, only waking himself up by taking a drag of strong alcohol.

 His head titled up towards his companion as the man in the white shirt sighed heavily again; “I need to keep my head clear, S.H.I.E.L.D and Skye gone...” The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D grimaced at the sound of his accomplishments as they filled the silent room. “All in one day.. How could I let that happen?” Their arrival to the mysterious cabin in the middle of the forest had been eventful. The first thing they’d come across was the forest itself, the one that had been torn apart by an unusual force, trees scattered alongside broken devices that they had both recognised as S.H.I.E.L.D gear. It’d only taken them a few minutes to find the security tape and watch the forest get blown apart by a single figure.

 They’d watched in horror and with curiosity as their friend, a slim brunette who’d been finding refuge in one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s secret safe houses, raised a hand, a tremor being shot out from her trembling bones. They probably had watched the tape over ten times, watching as the people surrounding her, rogue agents that had only seconds before being ready to kill her on sight, were thrown to the side like bowling pins, yelps echoing through the forest. Guns flew in a mismatched tornado and the ground shifted, people shocked by what they were seeing. Lance’s attention had been drawn to a familiar blonde as she, like her fellow agents, had been launched backwards. His momentary concern had been cut short by an outburst, he and the Director had both snapped their gaze to the brunette, Skye, who had a look of distress on her face.

 “Gordon!” The footage was suddenly overwhelmed by a burst of energy, causing the screen to flutter unstably. This had provoked an exchange, Lance and the Director both looking upwards with wide eyes. “ _Help!_ ” The forest exploded with a bright light, the sight of it burning their eyes to the point they had both been squinting down at the video. Blinking quickly, their gazes cleared to reveal a second figure beside Skye, a tall grey-haired man that suddenly slung an arm around her waist. Despite the cries of anguish from the fallen agents, the area flashed once again, consuming the two people and making the agents stumble backwards. Filling the footage with a buzz of blown speakers, the light cleared gradually, resulting in the disappearance of both Skye and the newcomer, Gordon.

 The Director was shook awake from his memories as Lance spoke in an attempt to console him. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened with Skye just beyond those doors but he knew that this Gordon fellow wasn’t quite who he seemed. Maybe it was the fact that he could teleport, or maybe the fact that he had no eyes, but something was incredibly unnatural about him. He barely heard Lance as the Brit talked tiredly.

 “- there’s no way you could’ve known, Phil. They fooled all of us.” Lance took a deep breath, leaning forwards to refill his glass and grumbling slightly. “Bobbi and Mack..” He spat both of their names with disgust and irritation, making the Director, Phil, look up from his glass, his eyebrows drawn down tight over his stony eyes. “They’re conniving liars and thieves- And the next time I see one of them..” He chuckled darkly, shooting Phil a suggestive look. The older man just sighed.

 “They’re good agents.” Neither of them quite knew why Phil Coulson was defending Barbara Morse and Alfonso Mackenzie, but he was. He believed in devotion and the greater good, unlike the man who had directed S.H.I.E.L.D before him. For some weird idea, he supported the fantasy that the two agents were just caught up in a bad crowd. They’d been a useful asset to his team in their base, well, that was until he realised that they were both undercover for Robert Gonzalez. Phil’s face was tight as he continued. “Try to see it from their side.”

 Lance scoffed. “Screw their side.” Unlike Phil, Lance Hunter was livid. He was notorious for a short fuse and a scolding anger and he had no intention of living Phil’s expectations down. That’s why Phil barely glanced up at the young Mercenary as he began to ramble diffusely. Lance was being driven by the betrayal he felt, driven by the image of the blonde he had tied himself to in marriage all of those years ago, only to have a divorce that he’d never quite gotten over. The “demonic hellbeast” - as he fondly nicknamed her just didn’t know when to stop lying and start dishing out the truth. He’d been so close to forgiving her for leaving him, but then she’d turned around and gotten Mack to kidnap him and lock him in a bathroom on their little wonder ship. “There are very few people in this world that I’d throw down with, but you’re one of them. _Gonzalez, the “Love Boat Captain”_?” He ridiculed the man by curling his lip in disgust.

 “Not if hell froze over.”

 “He’s a brilliant tactician who’s dedicated his life to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Phil reminded Lance, shrugging. Lance only just rolled his eyes at Phil’s role of defender of the crack-jobs, attempting to drink his problems away. But before he could refill his glass once again, Phil leant forwards and pushed the decanter of whisky out of his reach, a serious expression on his face. “I ran into him a couple of times at the Triskelion. He’s not a bad guy.”

 “Yeah well, good guys don’t usually stab you in the back.” The venom dripped off of Lance’s voice as he glowered at the empty glass in his hand. He muttered grimly; “And anyway, there’s a reason that place fell to the ground, it was full of no good HYDRA bastards.”

 However, Phil paid no attention to Lance’s mumbling as his thoughts strayed back to the conversation he’d had with Gonzalez before the man had attempted to throw him to the dogs. Robert Gonzalez was a good man, he believed that. He believed that Gonzalez was just looking for the best, for the future. That man had a lot of morals, whether they were corrupt or not, he had no idea, but he’d met Gonzalez before S.H.I.E.L.D had crashed and Fury, the past Director, had trusted him. But then again, Fury had also trusted Alexander Pierce and that man had turned out to be a twisted HYDRA official. Yet Gonzalez’s words stuck with him, Robert had told him that he didn’t think that he was fit enough to lead the organisation he’d spent his life supporting. He said that Phil, who had already died once in his life due to a sour-tempered Norse God, wasn’t in the right mind set, was still suffering and delusional from the after effects of the alien technology Nick Fury had used to revive him. Phil bit his lip; after what happened with Puerto Rico, with hallucinations, crazy driven movements and the intense carving cravings, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.

 “Maybe he’s got a point.” Phil voiced finally. “I was dead after all.” He found it tough to put the thoughts racing around his head into words, and Lance could see that. Lifting his gaze, he could see the distraught look in the Director’s eyes as the words just tumbled through his lips. “I shouldn’t even be here.” Lance frowned heavily.

 “We’ve all had our bad days..” Lance said awkwardly, not used to being the consoling figure in the conversation. He only had a specific skill set- comedic relief and beating the living daylights out of people. The look on Phil Coulson’s face almost unhinged him; after meeting him a few months ago in the Playground with people who were now dead, Phil had always been the strong one- well other than the time he’d almost gone insane, but like he’d said, they all had their bad days or months. Lance’s eyes were as hard as concrete as he rubbed the back of his neck, lips parted softly. “Well, maybe we should forget all this, head down to Mexico. We can lay low, enjoy the quiet life.”

 Phil seemed to age a hundred years in just the ensuing silence. “That’s not an option.” He couldn’t even tell the difference between options and fantasy anymore. “The problem is, there are no good options.” This caused Lance to chuckle.

 “Well, maybe it’s time for the bad ones.”

 And that gave Phil Coulson an idea.

 A bad option was exactly what they needed.


	3. Chapter 3

A flash of red hair and she was bolting across the corridor, arms pumping and her legs clenching as she dropped to the floor, sliding underneath a table. In an desolate building with too many staircases to be considered normal, sweat drenched her forehead, eyes sharp as she assessed the room she’d propelled herself into. She was tense, hand gripping the trigger of a gun, the end thick with a muffler, shoulders rolled forwards and short red hair tousled. The look of concentration on her features was delicate, as if she knew the slightest moment would end with drastic consequences. She was fully in control of what laid around her, she could place each object around her, hearing sharp, eyes closing as she listened intently.   
Gunfire came muffled but sharp, incoherent yells of anguish sounding behind the thick concrete walls around her. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she bunched her muscles as the scent of mould and grit filled her nostrils. Blood was smudged across her small delicate features, but her skin was unmarked, showing the fire in her movements as she’d battled through the chaos just beyond the metal door; as she opened her eyes, the fire blazed in her irises, the colour cold but full of life and concentration.   
She’d fought viciously with a deadly precision. She’d fired and kicked and driven bodies backwards into an abandoned building of rickety windows and skinny chairs. She managed to flip the whole ordeal against them, using their strengths against them and causing them to retreat into the deepest depths of the building, to the tangled maze of tunnels underneath the fortress. The investigation she’d done into this mysterious building had been limited, but she’d taken a wild card guess and here she was.   
She was lurking in the darkness and waiting to strike.  
“H-eat Sig-signatures travel-ling deep-p-per--”  
She ignored the crumpled sound of the earpiece in her ear and instead slipped it out, the electronic device slipping into a breast-pocket as her head tilted upwards, gaze spanning out from under the small desk. The room looked to be some sort of classroom, with perfectly juxtaposed desks and blown light-bulbs hanging grimly from the dusty ceiling. A projector was stationed somewhere in the back of the room alongside a series of bookshelves, where the shadows were thick and at their darkest; she could just about see the glimmer of metal from the gaze of the blue glare running down the edge of her sleeves. If she looked closely at the floor, she could see a thin layer of dust parted by a rush of footsteps, which was something she didn’t expect for such an old and weathered building.  
But then again, when the American tag-team had arrived, they had been greeted with an army.  
There was clearly something more that met the eye with this East-European fort.  
“Syuda!” Her muscles stilled as a heavily-accented voice filled the silence. The voice was deep, throaty, Russian, yet she didn’t recognise it. Her ears picked up the heavy sound of rubber-soled boots against concrete. Maybe nine or ten, dressed in tactical gear, from the sound of their flat-footed strides, possibly predominantly male. It was just as the voice got louder that she slipped her fingers down the barrel of her gun, prepping her gear. She knew exactly where they were going, she was at the bottom of a long corridor, there was no where else to go but through this door.  
And into her spider web.  
“Ne ubivat’ yeye!” The man called out once again. She listened with a hard expression, her past tangling up with the words she was hearing. What the man said, speaking in her own native language, made her mouth run dry and eyebrows furrow. Then realisation hit her. “She’s important, do not touch her.” The transition to rough English barely surprised her, but just made her brain rush faster.  
It was just as the door opened that she rolled out from her hiding space and backed into the darkness, getting a better look as a handful of enemy troops spilled through the doorway. As a man glanced towards her, she cut off the electric charge to her suit and submerged herself in the pitch black frame of the grimy walls. She could only let a impish smirk dance across her lips as the soldiers stumbled past obliviously, being lead by a broad-shouldered man who she could easily tell was the owner of the voice. The troops were dressed identically, all in black gear with guns holstered across their shoulders. Each walked proudly, heavily but with a stride that hinted military influence. She watched them attentively, alert for as many details as she could find, even as they neared her spot closely, causing goosebumps to ridge her porcelain skin.  
“He wants it all in crates, potoropis’.” The man instructed each soldier and she just watched as they hauled crates from underneath the desks, clearing the bookshelves of their belongings. Her first thought was to obstruct them, stop them from packing away all of the objects- she wanted to investigate, to knock them all unconscious- but something stopped her. Her head tilted delicately as she watched all of them in a co-ordinated chaos, where the walls were shaking from the impact of her teammates, where booms shattered the disorganised silence, causing dust to come in thin tendrils from the ceiling. They just worked through it, working through the darkness, packing away evidence, history.  
“Be careful, this is valuable,” He said again.   
This caused her to raise an eyebrow; a battle was raging around her yet here the soldiers were, packing away objects, things of value. Now this heightened her interest. There must’ve been something about this room that they didn’t want to see, they didn’t want outsiders to see what was in this room, they didn’t want anyone to discover what had happened here. And that was a definite sign that there was something not quite right about what was going on between these walls. Suspicion was thick in this part of Europe, always had been and now there was a pin-prick of activity, enough to cause the curiosity to spill out of her every pour. They’d come to Europe to chase out the last of their ghosts, but had stumbled across something more sinister, it seemed. These men were not dressed in black and red, not the poster HYDRA armies that had terrorised so many in the past century or so; but dressed discreetly as if to melt away into the darkness. Their uniform was heavy duty, but crisp. Smart but practical. She recognised the order to them all easily but somewhat was in denial. It simply couldn’t be.  
The infamous Black Widow would’ve observed the soldiers for a while longer if it wasn’t for a disturbance.  
More specifically, a ringtone.  
Her ringtone.  
It played across the room in a short but loud burst, causing a deathly pause to straightened the backs of the working men. They all froze as Natasha let a harsh Russian curse fall through her lips, the phone strapped to her leg vibrating angrily. Cover blown and sound pouring out of her suit, she did nothing but sigh as she regained the charge in her suit, causing a bright and brilliant blue light to burn across the room.  
The soldiers had all jolted to action, guns clicking as Natasha stepped out of the shadows, eyes bright with a slightly exasperated glint.  
“Hello there boys,” Her American accent that she’d learnt to perfect all those years ago rolling on her tongue like a harsh slap to the face. “I’m guessing none of you are going to excuse me for a phone call, no?” A brief moment passed and all she could do was crack a stunning smile.   
“My my, chivalry is dead.”  
There was a scuffle as a plethora of beefy men propelled themselves forwards, aiming for her curvy figure. Silently, she extended both arms, flicking her wrists and twirling two electrically charged batons as they came trailing out of her sleeve. It only took her a few moments to launch forwards, meet the crowd head on, and begin her deadly assault, gun stealthily stowed in her belt for later use. The crisp crackle of electricity caused her eyes to dance as a man fell forwards, his hair singed and body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.  
She moved with grace, elegance, like an assassin should. Her limbs were structured but willowy, striking out with a certain severity that caused soldiers to topple over like dominoes. The troops themselves were well trained, but they could not do justice against the infamous red-haired Black Widow. Her strikes were laced with poison, batons flying and Widows Bites, little electrically charged disks, flying like bullet rounds alongside the standard military issues. Cartwheeling and bending, she did not pause once, not even as the phone continued its song of Marimba.   
She took them down easily, gradually leaving the batons on the ground and using the electrical current in her gloves to coat the floor with unconscious bodies. Ten soon became five, then five became two. Securing her thighs around a noticeably taller troop, she forced her hands around his jaw, pressing her thumbs under his ears and unlocking the charge, causing the mans limbs to spasm. As the enemy dropped his gun, she guided his fall, flipping backwards and loosening her hold, hands cool against the cool floor. Just as she was about to fall backwards, she sprung her body forwards, her legs somehow finding themselves and her body teetering upright.   
The Black Widow found herself staring at the leader of the group with an impassive face.  
The leader found himself staring back with a wide and impressed grin.  
He was intrigued by her. He’d never seen someone move so fluidly, so precisely, it was almost textbook. She’d taken out his men effortlessly, she was deadly, she was perfect.  
She was bored by him. She’d seen countless men like him, all driven by power and delusions. He’d herded his men in here and she knew that she would just be wasting her breath by interrogating him.  
So she raised a gun and shot an icer-bullet, straight through his head.  
The man’s body concaved forwards, the space in between his eyes pulsating an angry blue as he seemed to stare at her in shock. But as his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to his knees, Natasha could see the look on his face. He was impressed, impressed by the guts she had to put an icer discharge through his skull and knock him unconscious. She looked at his crumpled form, a strange look passing over her features.  
He was just another puppet, but who she needed was the puppeteer.  
Just as she clicked her icer back into its holster, the ringtone ceased, causing her eyebrows to furrow. Carefully, she eased it out of her pocket and looked at the screen, reading the number that shone red for missed call. An unknown number, maybe a cold caller? If it had been one of her teammates, then she would’ve known. Sighing, she stowed it away, intending to replace her earpiece and explore the room. Casting a cool glare at the crumpled shapes, she adjusted her gear before stepping over each unconscious body, barely affected by the booms of artillery from the battle above.  
Her attention was drawn to the boxes, the crates stuffed with books and equipment- glancing at the contents she figured that it was some sort of collection of children’s books, which both baffled her and chilled her to the bone. She tenderly fished in a hand, bringing out a brightly coloured picture book, a sickly smiling animal printed across the front of it. She frowned slightly, turning the book in her gloved hands- there was nothing dangerous about a bunch of kids books, was there?  
Dropping it back into the box, she shook her head, red hair bouncing flippantly as she then turned to stare at the back of the room, into the heavy dark as it clung to the concrete walls. Her eyes sharply addressed a glint of metallic sheen, an object that had been shoved back and shrouded by the shadows. Her pace was careful, feet picking across the men she’d battled to the ground, jaw set. Raising a hand into the dark, she felt cool metal, some sort of tripod. With a perplexed expression, she went to turn on a torch she had handy. However, just as she went to flick the light, she was disturbed once again.  
This time, she instantly raised the phone to her ear, irritation plain on her face as she spoke in a flat tone.  
“Natalie Rushman speaking.”  
Her voice was straight, rehearsed, plain, just like she needed it to be. She didn’t know who it was that was calling her- she could only guess that it was the unnamed caller once again. So when the line filled with a soft chuckle, Natasha Romanoff’s eyes could only widen, recognising the voice almost instantly.  
“Darling, don’t tell me they’ve brainwashed you.”  
The irony in the words was enough to make the younger assassin smile.  
“Says the one using a British accent.” Was Natasha’s witty reply. She pressed the phone in the crook of her neck as she bent downwards, peering into the probing darkness. Something had been pushed to the side, something with three legs and a slight shine. Whatever it was, it was rusty but looked as though it’d been used recently. Natasha stooped, her head bowed slightly as she listened to the musical laugh as it filled the line. Cautiously, the red-haired assassin swallowed with unease, in a crouch position as she held out a slight hand. The object was cold, like chilled metal, but when she withdrew her hold, she could feel the harsh residue of rust as she ran her finger over her palm.   
Her grip ran across the object, finding that it was long and slight like a pole of some sort. Her breathing was easy as she attempted to tug it upwards, pulling it upright so she could gaze at it despite the heavy darkness. As she went to pull the phone away and illuminate it, the caller spoke again; “Touché- yet you’re the American one, now aren’t you? Or did you change your life around like last time?”  
“Funny,” Natasha muttered, her tongue tracing over her bottom lip as she attempted to unhinge the item from what seemed to be a crack in the concrete wall. Securing her hands tightly around the metal shaft, she continued to balance the phone on her shoulder. The cylinder seemed to be trapped against some sort of binding despite it being knocked on its side. As she shoved and tugged, Natasha realised that there was no use in trying to free it- it was genuinely stuck. So, exhaling sharply out of her nose, she lit her suit, a blue pallor casting across the shadows.  
“Oh, I’m sorry darling, did I interrupt something?” There was traces of amusement in the woman’s voice, but Natasha neglected to reply. Despite the fact she’d been waiting for the woman to phone her for what felt like decades, she was too intrigued by what she had found to string words into a sentence. Natasha just licked her lips and spoke out a rather flustered, “No- no- of course not... I just...”  
The object tied to the wall was some sort of projection device. It seemed to have been knocked over in surprise, but other than a few dents, it looked to be in good condition. It was still old and rather rusty- Natasha managed to tilt it upwards and lean it against the wall. Her breath was caught in her throat as she saw reels of tape cluttering the floor beneath it, and dusty footprints. Illuminated in the azure glow, she could see sets of fingerprints littering the sides of the projector- the old, classic style of projector, like the type you would’ve found in movie theatres in the sixties. With a sharp glint in her dark eyes, she ran her gloved hands across the chilled metal, breath catching in her throat as she noticed there was a tape fixed in the side of the machine.  
Wordlessly, Natalia Romanova pressed play.  
Instantly, she froze. Her muscles seized and her eyes widened, hearing the familiar music as it drawled across the classroom. Her red hair flared like flames as her head pivoted quickly, following the glare of light as the slightly cracked projector lense began to project the reel.  
“’Tessa-“ Natasha choked very noticeably on her words as she stared at it, memories washing over her in a very overwhelming, smothering fashion. The woman, who seemed to of also heard the show tune, let out a shaky breath, having also paused her movement. The two of them reacted exactly the same, the hitched breath, the pale pallor and the distinctive flash of fear as their worst guesses were confirmed. “Oni v-vernulis.”  
The Russian words seemed to be soaked up by the aged walls, alongside the drifting ambiance of horror and revelation.  
“Da, ‘Talia,” ‘Tessa’ replied, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “They’re back, darling.”  
-  
There was an unconscious man in the back of her Mustang.  
He was sprawled across the leather seats as she powered through the States, head lolling on her expensive fineries and arm splayed across the foot wells. His face was heavily bruised, lips split and cheeks blackened and eyelids heavy. His shirt was stained, the pricey material trailed with the remnants of the evening before, vivid red against the pale silk, and his dress-trousers were ripped slightly at the hem, ruining his usually pristine reputation. With a slightly bloodied jaw and forehead, he began to come to, his muscles flinching and eyes rolling behind its lids.  
As unconsciousness lifted from him, he began to notice things- like the plush feel of the red leather against his skin, the sound of classical music streaming from the car radio, the prowl of the car as it revved down the highway. Everything seemed incredibly calm, fluid, easy. If he’d known better, he would’ve thought that someone had lovingly placed him in the back of a car and laid him to rest; but as he woke and nearly gagged on the tie muffling his voice, he knew that he was still in deep danger.  
His eyesight was foggy at first, an unfocused whirl of red interior and a flash of blonde met him. He found it incredibly exhausting to move his eyelids, his gaze rolling about unsteadily until it settled on an array of empty bottles that was just metres from his face. Lying on his side with his gaze mis-matched, he found it hard to focus on the small print; but after blinking profusely and leaning forwards to the point he nearly tumbled off of the seat, he almost choked on his own breath, identifying the bottles as some sort of knock-out drug. He could only guess that the contents of those bottles were now seeping into his veins.   
With wide eyes, he looked up again, craning his neck to identify the driver. The driver seemed female, not too tall, but driving with an elegance that was almost sinister as she gazed out of the window in front of her. From the angle he was sprawled at, he found it hard to make out any specific details, but he could nearly see the waves of blonde hair that had been clipped back behind her ears, and the heavy expensive-looking sunglasses adorning her face. Her face was nonchalant, gaze seemingly fixed on the road that stretched out in front of her. If it wasn’t for her light, musical humming to the elaborate classic piece from the speakers, he would’ve thought that she was asleep.  
An incoherent moan fell through his lips as he attempted to move himself upright, but found himself gagged and tied fatally.  
The woman chuckled, “Good morning, darling.” Ian Quinn froze. “Did you have a nice sleep?”  
He squeezed his eyes closed, as if trying to persuade himself that he was not in the back of a highly-esteemed assassin.  
Glancing up in the mirror to her right, Val let a smirk peruse across her red painted lips. “Oh no, love, this is all real. Just as real as that shiner I gave you- gosh darling, don’t you look handsome.”   
Quinn managed to salvage his reflection in the shine of the well-cared-for dashboard. He looked like hell- battered and beaten to a pulp. She hadn’t exactly gone easy on him, despite what she had said previously. He knew that she’d never liked him that much, even though they had gotten together on numerous occasions, and she’d obviously taken that dislike out on his face. Swelling his tongue over his cut lip, Quinn just took deep breaths through his nose, looking up to glower at the woman staring back at him in the mirror. She just smiled.  
“You know how I work.” Wordlessly, Val reached out a hand and hooked a finger around the back of one of her heels. Quinn scrutinized it, watching as the heel hung solemnly, only attached by an odd length of fabric. He swallowed thickly.  
“You break my shoes, I break your face.”  
The scene passing the car was some sort of highway, cars passing regularly despite the fact he was gagged and bloodied in the back of an expensive car. He was sure that everything looked just dandy on the outside, Mustangs weren’t uncommon around here- although he wasn’t even sure where here was anymore. He knew that Val liked to speed and drive erratically, and glancing out of the window to spy at the slightly blurred speed they were moving at, he was hardly surprised. The dash read ninety in a seventy zone—he could only pray that Val was pulled over by cops and his existence saved.   
But he knew that that would never happen. Not when Valerie Fox was at the wheel- not when their darling Valentina was driving.  
He watched her silently as she drove, knowing that it was no use to try and fight his way out of his bindings. He didn’t even want to think about where they were heading, talk about why he was stuffed in the back of her car. All he could smell was her perfume, a familiar scent that danced in his nostrils and sickened his tongue. The mere thought of being in the same car as her disgusted him, but he didn’t have a choice.   
“Now, you see, I’m in a bit of a situation,” Val began speaking daintily, her accent filling every inch of the space fluidly. Quinn’s gaze returned to the mirror, only to see her shaded eyes completely ignoring him and instead surveying the cars in front of her. “So I need to pass you onto a contact, who, frankly darling, isn’t the happiest person in the world. I hate to break it you, but you’re not a priority for me right now, Ian sweetheart. I need you alive, yes, but with me, no.” Quinn’s eyes burned with a thousand words as his anger issues made his neck muscles clench. “To sum it up, you’re a pain in the arse, and always will be darling.”  
Val had a lot of issues going on at the moment that she needed to handle, and a grouchy man-child was no one of them. Of course, Ian Quinn had information that she needed, so she had to be careful to not let him run away or kill himself like tricky children like him had the tendency to do. So, she was simply driving to the next state and unloading him on a contact, an acquaintance that she knew hated the pure existence of anything related to CYBERTEK or John Garret. Val ran her tongue across her bottom lip as she expertly swerved through the streaming traffic, her eyes picking out the glamour of rush-hour California.   
She’d been driving since six am, knocked Quinn out some time after three, and the exhaustion that you would’ve expected to come over her was yet to come. After handling a rather problematic phone call from a close contact, that confirmed multiple suspicions in multiple ways, her next logical move was to change her course of plans. She’d only, last night, devised a Plan A, but now she needed a Plan A.5 and she knew exactly what to do.   
It would’ve helped if she knew who was hunting her down and it would’ve helped if she knew who’d hidden the objects from her childhood in that castle in Eastern Russia. But she did know a lot of other things, like how to flee the country.  
Val was pleased to find out that Quinn had worked the gag out of his mouth and down to his neck. Her head raised to the mirror to see him gagging and taking long, rattling breaths as he shook off the final effects of the drugs she’d pumped into his system.   
“Bitch.” He breathed out, before dropping his head onto the leather seats.  
“Ian, you really do need to find some more original insults.” Was her amused reply.   
Quinn attempted to rile her up numerous times as the pair drove through the state, but Val reacted passively, regularly chuckling and rolling her eyes at the males ignorance. His short fuse continuously played against hers and a few times Val’s muscles stiffened, but much to Quinn’s disappointment, she played it off with expert precision causing him to grovel. His frustration could only give her a slight burst of smug expression as she was focused on what she had to do next. And it was only because of that that they made it to her desired stop within half the time she’d expected. But, of course, there were a few obstacles to get through first.   
Val’s face contorted as the siren sounded behind her, blue lights flashing across the mirror. She took a deep breath as the car flagged her over, her eyes flashing darkly as Quinn’s head raised. A cat-like grin stretched across his lips and he propped himself up, his shoes scuffing against the leather seats. Val’s head turned as he began to yell, his words loud and desperate as the car behind them rolled to a stop. She rolled her eyes, leaning over and taking one stiletto in her hand. As Quinn glared her down, mouth wide and eyes bulging, Val wordlessly raised the stiletto to the side of his head.  
With a short yelp, Ian Quinn fell back against the leather, knocked unconscious by a broken Louboutin.   
“You better not stain my seats,” Val muttered bitterly, watching as his bounds were concealed by his sprawled limbs. Turning and dropping her shoes under the seat, she checked her appearance in the mirror, running a finger around her lips and gussying herself up. Law Enforcement didn’t scare her, most of them were just overly ambitious men who had a thing for busty blondes in flash cars. And oh- what cha’ know.  
“M’am.” A cop rapped on her door shortly, making her reel in down and gaze up at him with a glossy and well-rehearsed smile. The policeman, who was seemingly young and strict, looked down at the blonde woman, eyeing her angelic features and stellar smile. He placed his hands on his hips and swallowed thickly as Val ‘obliviously’ blinked up at him.  
“Is there a problem officer?” Her dulcet and well-rehearsed American accent clung to his every pore and his gaze softened for a moment before darkening quickly. Val played her part flawlessly, leaning across the window and delicately taking off her sunglasses and batting her eyelashes. Her round, luminous eyes sparkled alluringly in the warm light that was cast across the road. A hot girl in a hot car; Val knew he couldn’t resist.  
“Yes, Miss, it seems as though you’ve been speeding.” The cop was tall and well-filled, his muscles large underneath his shirt. He was attractive, extremely so and Val could only use it to her advantage. She let a bashful expression wash over her features and an innocent shock filter through her eyes. With her vibrant blue eyes wide, she placed a hand out of the window, voice light.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry officer,” There was a gasp caught in her voice somewhere beneath the sultry horror. The police officer’s impassive strong features tarnished slightly as her briskly horrified expression jolted his heart. Val must’ve been in this sort of situation little around a hundred times so she was barely fazed by the sight of the gun holstered to his belt. Instead, this gave her confidence, her body leaning further out of the car window. “I had no idea- I’m a little distracted at the moment.” That was the precise moment that a groan fell through the car, causing the policeman to frown and squint towards the darkened back windows.   
“M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”   
Val nodded quickly, but inside she was ranting and raving, fantasising about taking the gun strapped to his leg and backhanding the officer with it. She didn’t really like the good guys, or the bad guys for that matter. She just really didn’t like nosey people and unfortunately, the police force was some of the nosiest people she’d ever met. The officer stepped backwards as she opened the door, reaching out a tender heeled foot. She’d only had time for a quick change, bloodied clothes swapped for a fitted top and three-quarter-length jeans. Pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and crossing her arms, she watched as the officer reached into the car, unlocking the back passenger doors. She held her breath.  
Opening the door, the police officer narrowed his eyes.   
Quinn’s head lolled to one side, an angry mark spanned across the left side of his face. He looked as though he’d seen better days, but Val could only smile internally at her work. However the police officer didn’t look very impressed. Instead he just looked between her and Quinn, a very stony expression on his face. Val mustered a desolate smile.  
“I’m trying to take him to the hospital,” Val said flippantly, managing to keep her character intact as Quinn stirred slightly. “He was drunk and beaten up by some men on the street- a-and I’ve been trying to find the hospital.” The officer gave her a long, scrutinizing look, before catching the slight sincerity she’d fused into her gaze. Her eyes flitted between the officer and the unconscious man. “I think he’s bleeding-“  
“It’s alright, m’am.” He took a deep breath; the woman didn’t seem to be doing much harm. “Can I just get your details?” She nodded shortly, licking her lips as she steadily recited one of her aliases off of the top of her head. Slowly, the officer processed her details through the database, oblivious to the fact that the “Karen Cook” character Val had given him was just a paper human, a paper human who she had made sure had all of the needed bells and whistles. She hugged her arms to her body and tilted her head, showing him her fake licence and smiling as he gave her a nod in acceptance. “Everything seems to be in order.”  
“Thank you Officer?—Officer Dugan.” She smiled sweetly and gritted her teeth slightly as Quinn let out a strained gasp from his place on the leather. With a perfect flash of pearly whites, Val turned around and slammed the door incospiciously, hitting Quinn’s head forcefully and causing the scientist to fall back, unconscious once again.   
He wouldn’t be getting her arrested, Val was sure of that as she bade the officer goodbye and slipped into the drivers seat.   
Not today at least.  
And as she taped up his mouth, she supposed that this was the correct approach to not getting put in the slammer.  
Val lifted her head to the side as the phone played across her vehicle.   
As she finished reapplying her makeup, glazing her lips with the red lipstick she kept at hand at all times, she couldn’t help but smirk. Her gaze was stuck on the rear-view mirror as her finger delicately wiped around the outline of her lips, before puckering them heatedly, her eyes smouldering. Reaching backwards carefully, she avoided hitting her arm against the body that was slumped across the backseat of her Mustang. She carefully extracted her mobile from the back of her seat before lifting it into her view. Checking the caller ID and watching as the cop car rolled away from behind her, she smiled.  
“Director, darling, well hasn’t it been a while.”  
Val’s face was bright with amusement as she looked about her car, her blue eyes searing about the highway beyond the front dashboard. The road was somewhat deserted even as rush hour rolled quickly across the clock, the police car just about disappearing further down the road. Val noticed this as her eyes closed momentarily, relaxing in the tranquillity of the moment, despite the unconscious body in her backseat and the two large bodies stuffed in the trunk.  
“I need back up.” Was all he said tiredly.  
Val’s lips twitched. “What, no hello or how are you?” Her voice was light and teasing despite the callers sombre mood. She smirked as he sighed heavily. “Phil, the last time I heard you were six feet under after you had a run in with the God of Mischief.” Phil was less uptight than Fury, she found, and he had a good heart which was tough to find in an organisation of super spies. Even though she had one of the foulest hearts out there, it was nice to be in Phil’s world for a few moments before her world caught up with her.  
“Hello Valerie.” He managed stonily, making her grin.  
“See now, darling,” Val teased. “That wasn’t too hard was it?”  
She had the tendency to tease people to the point where she got her own way, it was a remarkable talent that had gotten her along way. Unlike most of her skills, she hadn’t been taught her teasing personality, but developed it with her own head, and that was rare with her backstory. Where she came from, women didn’t have quirks and flaws, they were all cut from the same cloth and identical like soldiers. They were all flawlessly produced, trained and dispersed like porcelain dolls in a factory. They were all the same, all effective in the same way and all killers.  
But she was defected- she was different.  
“Look- Val, I need your help.” She savoured the sound of his desperate voice, something that was foreign to her. People never came to Valerie Fox for help, they only asked for assistance or her services- well not even asked. Phil had always been one of those people who people loved doing favours for, he was just like that, he never held things over each other unless he was desperate or on his last card. And by the way he spoke, Val had a feeling he was out of a whole deck.  
“I assume Gonzalez caught up with you, yes?” Nothing was new news to her. Val was ahead of everyone and everything and she knew exactly why Phil was calling. She had eyes and ears everywhere. Val knew all too well what situation the Director was in; he was backed in the corner and caught in the middle of Robert Gonzalez’s fiery plunder for justice. She’d met the man a few times—he was far too patriotic for her taste.  
It wasn’t that she hated him, it was just that his beliefs and his methods were a bit unreasonable for her to handle, and she was all too familiar with the way she dealt with people who wouldn’t comply with her insistences- this provoked a small glance into the mirror at Ian Quinn’s battered form. Gonzalez was just some guy that was trying to fix things that weren’t broken, she knew that Phil could handle himself. Of course she did. She always checked out the new Directors as they came to power, simply to determine whether she needed to exterminate them or not.  
Luckily for Phil, he seemed pretty happy with Valerie Fox, yet she was sure if he found out about her true identity that he would probably have kittens.  
The Director barely batted an eyelash. “Why am I not surprised.” She could hear him sigh softly into the receiver as he shook his head lightly. “He’s being problematic, he’s had agents trailing me for weeks.” She didn’t seem surprised at all. She’d never quite thought that the new mismatched team that he’d pulled together would do any good at all, if she had to be frank. Two brainiacs, a dodgy mechanic, a sour-faced agent who still held a grudge against everyone, a boozy Merc from the Queens country, a psychotic manipulative blonde bird woman and to top it off, some girl who happened to wander into a Kree temple and find herself some freaky powers that were worth Charles Xavier’s time and teaching. Val rolled her eyes. Yeah, such a surprise that some of them were bad fruits.  
“Yes, I never did like Barbara.” Val muttered. “She half screwed over Clint before he met Natasha.”   
Again, Phil didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Well- now I’m just down to two of us. We had to leave everything behind and my contact list is rather short.” He felt awful having to admit that they were at a dead end, but really he didn’t have any other choice. He had to go for the bad option and that option was Valerie Fox, the ex-agent turned part time murder enthusiast.   
“Wait.. Nerd or Merc?”  
“Merc.” He replied quietly. Val rolled her eyes.  
“Darling, you sure know how to pick a team.”   
“He’s got guts.” Phil commented, glancing up to Lance as the Mercenary busied himself spreading ammunition across the table in front of him. Although he probably would’ve preferred Melinda May, the all-round talented agent, he felt as though he could count on Lance.   
They had common interests, like not dying.   
“I’m sure he does, but you know that I’m not working for S.H.I.E.L.D anymore, there was something about me being volatile and not playing nice with others.” She kept her voice cool as the humorous moment passed. Val had more pressing things to think about- such as Quinn and his silence and the fact that someone was hunting her down. But then again, she could always use an alibi in case she accidently happened to put a bullet in Ian Quinns brain. Pursing her lips, she thought it over. Phil was a nice guy, but she wasn’t a nice girl. She was a survivor which meant she didn’t have friends. She’d been bought up not to have friends, if you cared for them then that was the sign to abandon them. Her lifestyle was too harsh for Christmas Cards. “I’m a free spirit, Phil, I’ve got things to do.”  
“What like stashing the body?” He asked humorously, but all Val could do was turn her head, her eyes glimmering as Quinn shuffled slightly, his eyelids fluttering.  
“You have no idea.” Phil could hear the grin in her voice and he just rolled his eyes.  
“Look, I’m pretty desperate, I just need you to help me take back S.H.I.E.L.D and then I’ll give you free clearance to bunk with us for a bit.” Phil was half-heartedly trying to negotiate, he knew how tricky Valerie Fox was. She was an illusive character and he’d never quite found out how she’d swung around into S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar. He just knew that she’d been around for a long time and was very aware when it came to dodgy dealings and bloodshed. He really had been forced down to his last two contacts, mostly because everyone else was occupied. After all, he couldn’t exactly just ask the Avengers for a favour- after all, they thought he was stiff in a coffin, not desperately trying to rebuild the ruins of an international agency. “I’ll get you back in contact with Maria Hill, I know that you lost the connection when she went to Stark. Or, I could try and get Fury back in-“  
“Hmm, dark and dingy Bunkers, not quite my style.” She cut him off quickly, her accent curt. Phil breathed out heavily. “But luckily I haven’t got much on my agenda until next month. I might be busy but nothing is too pressing. It’s been awfully quiet since Pierce kicked the bucket.” Lie. She’d never been busier, even when Russia was threatening to bomb the living daylights out of Washington. “Where’s the party?”  
“The Cabin.”   
She nodded. “Right, I’m in the state, give me a few hours and I’ll be right on track. Just got some baggage that I need to drop off first.” Val passed a breathy laugh and Quinn glared at her icily. Phil passed a few words of thanks and she just rolled her eyes. “Darling, please, the day that I pass the chance to wring Bobbi Morse’s neck is a day that I don’t want to happen. I’ve seen too many fallen regimes to let another one just fall on its own; don’t count of me getting emotional though-“ Val paused as Quinn began squeaking against his bindings.  
“Excuse me for a moment.” Tossing the phone into the passenger seat, Val grinded her teeth, opening the glove compartment and rooting through it casually. On the other side of the line, Phil raised an eyebrow, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as he heard the muffled sounds of Val threatening someone, before backhanding someone with a broken shoe. He couldn’t help but chuckle, causing Lance to look up from his seat questioningly. Phil just smirked.  
“Sorry about that.” Val tugged the phone back up to her ear, pressing it in between her shoulder and the crook of her neck. Stuffing her keys into the ignition, there was a growl as the engine of her car came to life. She hummed lightly as Quinn squirmed silently, his cheek pulsating angrily. “You know my code of conduct darling, you break my shoe--”   
The car jolted forwards, taking off down the alleyway. Quinn rolled in his seat, Val not having enough patience to strap him in. With the phone still against her ear, she couldn’t help but grin widely as she felt the thrill of speed run through her. She loved the speed and the adrenalin; it was safe to say she’d had enough speeding tickets for Tony Stark to faint.  
“You break their face...” He recited it from memory before pausing. ”That’s rather.. different.” Phil commented. He rubbed his forehead softly, before pausing. There was one last thing he needed to ask her.  
“Oh- and Val, I need a favour.”  
-  
She pulled the Mustang into the lot, rubbing her hand over her forehead.  
Val had three bodies, three bodies to dump and one body to pick up.   
Since when the hell had she become a babysitter?  
Still donned in heels and all, Val slipped out of her car, reaching into the back and lugging out the heavily bruised form of Ian Quinn and slamming him onto the floor. His body slammed into the gravel of the car park and she smiled vaguely as he made a low grunting noise through the bindings over his mouth. Val just scoffed lightly, before she left him there, slumped against the side of her prized vehicle, with his hands tied and feet bound with plastic ties. Not even looking back, she trotted across the car park in her tall heeled shoes and made her way towards the destination she’d been driving towards ever since something had come up and her whole plan had been rerouted.   
The park was busy, cluttered. Parents, children, all of them in a chaotic but welcoming mess, clinging to swing sets and ricocheting against bright climbing frames and hanging onto adult arms. They swarmed about the play park, every seat filled with the bright face of a child or the tired lined frowns of sleep-deprived parents, the air full of energy, full of the happy summer day that swelled around them. But really, it made Val feel sick.  
It was in places like these, where picnic baskets were laid out pristinely, paired with the model family- the dashing father, the fair-haired mother, the kids and even the bloody golden Labrador- with the sun beating down on them, caressing their features and glinting off of their smiles. It made her think of what she had, and that certainly wasn’t a puppy and a picket fence. But still, walking past the family crowds and the happy, go-lucky faces, she kept herself calm, cool and collected.   
Impassiveness was easy when all you felt was the bad things.  
She knew that no one would even blink at the gagged man in the corner of the park, this world was different to the one she’d grown up in. Everyone stuck to their own business, would never help anyone if it even meant lifting a finger. And besides, she said they wouldn’t and she was always right.  
The sunglasses were shading her eyes without any other thought, her hips swaying as she idly picked her way to a select spot just behind a row of trees. Val had scouted her target out with no difficulty at all, he was hardly inconspicuous, although he might’ve of liked to think he was. Sashaying along with her long hair low on her collar bones and hands buried in the deep pockets of the bright red coat drawn around her figure, she smiled once or twice at a passing person but with the mechanical timing of a clockwork doll.  
As soon as she was out of the warm sunlight and under the shade of the tall trees that stretched overhead, Val was back to the tight professional stride and set jaw, her eyes fixated on the figure just out of her reach. There was someone standing behind a thicket of bushes, watching discreetly and attempting to conceal themselves behind the habitat. He was standing just out of eye-range, but it wasn’t that hard for her to find him seeing as she knew exactly where he would be. Fifteen steps from the family area, stood just where the brambles made way for the nettles and a slightly aged bench that leaned weakly against the side of a tree. Val paused just behind him, knowing that he’d already sensed her appearance the moment she’d set foot in his direction.  
“Nice kid.”   
The sun glinted off of the mechanical structure to his body, the plating and the tough metal that was fused to his skin, his neck crinkling slightly as he tilted his head, listening to her as her accent filled the air. Val didn’t say anything more than that, but followed his gaze- her eyes meeting the sight of a small African-American boy as he slid down a slide, a wide smile on his features.  
“He is.” The man replied. Val could only smile, her gaze flickering back to the experiment that had been John Garrets pride and joy. The man had aged now, aged since she’d last seen him. Although then, he’d been in pieces- the backfire of an explosion that, she admitted, had been a bit over the top. He looked as though he’d seen better days, his skin was mottled where metal met flesh, his scalp deformed and what she could see of his face well... it wasn’t pretty. But it wasn’t as if Val wasn’t used to hanging about with half-robot, half-human projects.  
In fact she was very familiar with the concept.  
“He must miss you.” Val commented again, watching as the man’s face contorted quickly, wildly. But it went as quick as it had come, like a spark on a wire. Spontaneous. He didn’t speak, so she thought that it would be the least she could do but fill the silence. “Righteous and noble, textbook hero just like who he aspires to be.” Her words had turned from nonchalant to serenely bitter, but she blinked that away flippantly just like he’d shaken her off. Instead of continuing like she had half a mind to, she curled her tongue against the top of her palette and settled down on the bench, leaning back against the wooden panels. Smiling slightly, she felt the sun as it glazed her features softly.  
“What do you want?” He asked firmly and Val could only chuckle at his bluntness. She’d sat down and he was suddenly straight to the point. He seemed like a good man with rogue intentions, there were more similar than he could imagine.   
“Do I have to introduce myself, darling?” Val enquired. She felt oddly comfortable as she sat there, not even opening her eyes as she listened to the odd tranquillity of the moment. The soft chatter of the playground, song of birds and the gentle mechanical whirring of the suit to her left as the man stood pin straight. Val kept her neck craned as the man spoke.  
“No, I know exactly who you are, Valerie Fox.”  
“Great.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Then you know that I’m here for business.”  
“What do you want?” Mike Peterson repeated, turning his head and fixing his beady eyes on the lounging blonde. The sun hit the burns on the side of his face, aging him dramatically in the slanted sunlight. Val’s eyelashes fluttered and she gazed at him delicately, hands still deep in her pockets. She’d heard a lot about what Mike Peterson had been up to; the valiant puppet that turned on his master and effectively killed John Garret. He was both an ally and a enemy to be reckoned with. Val knew that he was aware of her and that he was wary of her, they all were, but she wondered whether he knew that there was more to her than a pretty face.  
“I’m here for a friends business, not my own.” Val commented with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I happen to be playing the part of babysitter today, darling, and if you can’t tell, that’s one thing I don’t have on my job description.” Her tone was casual, steady and she couldn’t help but let her lip curl slyly.  
“But kidnapping is?” Mike retaliated, making her look at him. Val’s gaze was calculating for a few moments as she took in HYDRA’s attempt at a supersized soldier, a mechanical dream that had only turned to cut the ties it had to its creator. She tilted her head and gazed at him, before she gave him her most flattering smile. Although she admittedly had kidnapped Quinn and left him barely conscious in the middle of a car park, Val didn’t think Mike would mind once he found out who the gagged man was. “I doubt that you even have a job description.”  
“Well, you did, didn’t you Deathlok?” Now, that made Mike stiffen. Val leant forwards, her muscles warming up and her form rebuilding itself. Her heeled shoes brushed against the undergrowth and she shuffled her hair, one hand still firmly resting in her pocket as she trailed her red manicure over her hairline.   
Mike definitely did not miss the smudges of crimson that was nearly camouflaged by her vibrant nail polish.  
“What do you want?”  
“You don’t like to chat, do you?” Val asked serenely, turning her gaze back to the play park, eyes scouring back over the climbing bars, the swings and the slides. It took her a while to spot Mike’s son, the small kid who seemed to be with some sort of guardian, laughing cheerfully like a kid should be. Her mood dipped slightly as she felt a whirl of sentimentality overcome her, but she shook it off. Val didn’t have time to feel sorrow over her broken childhood, well, whatever her childhood had been- she didn’t think it deserved to be called a childhood, more of a period of time that she had worked so hide to put behind her. “I-I got the impression that you were a man of many words—well, any person would be once they turned their back on HYDRA and killed their master.”  
“You think?”  
Val met his gaze on and smiled boldly. “Oh, I know.” Getting to her feet, Val was slightly dwarfed by his height. From this she could see the sad sceptical in his eyes. Glancing back at his kid, Mike scrutinized her fully, the petite woman with a dark and indulgent glimmer to her, with the deadly posture and the look in her that seemed as though she would be able to react quicker than he could ever dream to move. “It’s hard to be everything you weren’t supposed to be, but sometimes it’s better to be an anomaly than just another boring plot on a graph, don’t you think? It’s more fun.”  
Mike let out a soft whoosh of air; spending time off of the grid had completely changed his perspective of the world. Where he’d once seen a world that was made to prosper a man, there was just darkness and distress. He wasn’t sure whether “fun” was exactly what he’d categorise his life as. But Val seemed to think it was all fun and games. She folded her arms across her chest and watched the man closely. Mike was a curious character, she’d give him that, although she’d met guys like him in the past there was something, admittedly, different about him.   
He remembered who he was for a start.  
“Look Mike- can I call you Mike?” He gave her a very hard look and Val just brushed it off. “I’ve been sent here to get you to help a contact of mine. They said that you’d help them so I’m not here just to waste my time.” She was very blunt with what she said, Val didn’t have the patience to lay down a full, calm negotiation. Mike didn’t think that being an anomaly was fun but Val knew exactly how fun being the odd one out could be. She had a way with words, sure, but that didn’t mean that was all she could do. No, she didn’t like to brag but she was pretty coldblooded when she needed to be. “So if you don’t come with me and get in the car with me, well, darling I’m not going to be too quiet about it.”  
“I don’t appreciate being talked to like that.” He said firmly, turning his head to glower at her. Val returned his look head on, her eyes trailing along the grilled burns down the side of his face and the defused glare of the whites of his eyes. “Who asked you here?”  
“I have something you might want, you know,” Val began smiling at him broadly, with her calculations clear in her eyes. “He’s a bit battered and bruised but he’s definitely something you might be interested in.” She watched as curiousity arose in his facial features, his mauled eyebrows bunched and his dark gaze fixated on her as if she’d just said something that meant life or death.  
“Something? Don’t you mean someone.” He asked, causing her to roll her eyes. Val turned her head to look across the carpark, back between the trees and towards the gravel and tarmac. Her blonde hair settled on the wind briskly and Mike’s breathing struck up slightly as he followed her movements, catching the face that was looming through the undergrowth. He was leaning heavily against the side of a Mustang, looking as though he’d been hit by a truck directly in the face, covered in scratches bruises and split skin. His face tightened, his gave fixing tightly and his computer whirring as he placed the face with a name.   
“Darling, I don’t think Ian Quinn is human.” She spoke with a dry humour that cracked a smile on both of their lips. “He’s a pig.”  
Mike glared at the man, the crippled man that hung onto the glossy paintwork of the muscle car, hatred boiling beneath the humoured smile on his lips. But then, once Val had finished speaking, his face was void of emotion again, his gaze flickering to Val as she leant backwards, against the bench after playing her cards. Her hand was extensive and Ian Quinn seemed to be her Black Jack. The way she looked at him, the way her pristine eyes shone and the way her lips quirked, it was as if it was all a game. Mike could see the plan she had, just working away like the computers welded to his brain. There was more to Valerie Fox than what had first met the eye.  
“Is this it?” Mike voiced, his American accent raw as it tumbled out of his cracked smile. “I come with you, help your contacts, take Quinn—what’s in it for you?” Val rose an eyebrow as his face grew dark, his shoulders bunching and jaw clenching. She could see the patience slip through his fingers, his paranoia skyrocket. But she stood her ground as Mike Peterson squared his shoulders, towering above her menacingly. “What is your benefit from this exchange, Miss Fox?”  
Val looked up at him pleasantly, her body barely flinching. Mike wasn’t a bad guy, she knew he would never lay a hand on her. Guys like him were troubled, they were mislead and they were angry at anyone, everyone. They were perfect for the right branch of manipulation.   
“You want revenge, I can see it in your eyes- you want to take Quinn and deform him, cripple him, torture him, make him feel the pain you have felt every time you stand in this very spot and watch your son.” Voice cool, level and pressing, Val advanced forwards, working wonders with her dulcet tone. “You want revenge- you crave it- you’ve been punishing yourself for what he has done. You’ve hidden away from your son because he made you like this. I’m being merciful, Mr. Peterson. I’m granting you your revenge- Ian Quinn, what better than to cause harm to the man that crafted you into everything you hate? You help my contact, I help you in your path for revenge. I’m not an idiot, Mike- you’re off the grid, you’re punishing yourself not because of what you are. You’re punishing yourself because of something much worse.”  
“And what would that be?” Mike asked, in a completely detached voice. Val smiled.  
“Revenge.” She said as if it was plainly obvious. “You’re hiding away because you’re scared- ah ah ah---“ Val shook her head disapprovingly as Mike growled lowly. “—You’re scared of what you feel, darling. You’re scared of the bloodthirst, the need to wipe HYDRA clean from the earth. What a patriotic feeling, what a dark, destructive, desolate state of mind.” Mike didn’t speak a word, just stared at the woman as she spoke words that reached the processors in his head, causing his computing system to run with a crazy and chaotic spur. “So, I’m helping you. I give you Ian Quinn and in return, you wait for my call.”  
Turning his head back to stare at Ian Quinn, Mike could only frown as his head cleared significantly. “But what use am I to you, Miss Fox?”  
Val could only laugh.  
“Oh, I’ve got a few ideas, my darling Deathlok.”


End file.
